To the Old World
by hell rings
Summary: "Be sure to make your death contribute to the betterment of humanity; that's the first lesson they teach you in class. Armin studies the hardest." Written for the snk kink meme.


**i.**

You like to reminisce about your childhood, back before you knew the pain of losing loved ones. Armin never received such a luxury with the death of his parents after they ventured outside of the walls, and you can personally attest to Mikasa's story of losing people.

It took Mikasa two months before she felt truly comfortable around Armin, the weird kid who held heretical beliefs and refused to fight back against the bullies who beat him for wanting to go outside. They beat him for having long hair, for being smaller than the other children, for having dead parents. You remember Mikasa telling you that he wouldn't survive if he didn't stand up for himself, a grimace replacing her usual impassive expression. The hard look in your eyes when you told her to never say that about Armin again drained the color on her face after she saw how absolutely serious you were about it.

She avoided the topic of him again for a while afterward and tended herself to other things—but Armin liked Mikasa as soon as you introduced her to him as your newly adopted sister, and he never questioned your maroon scarf that now was wrapped protectively around her neck. He later told you that he could tell that she was broken, but it was alright because Doctor Yeager could fix broken. He fixed his broken wrist when the bullies had shoved him too hard, and he fixed your broken leg when you foolishly thought that you could jump off of a high ledge and land on a lower one below, like you had seen the stray cats do. You missed, as luck would have it, and Armin immediately rushed to help you back to your father.

He lifted you up because, somehow, all of the strength in your body was replaced by some heavy and sinking feeling because the bone was not supposed to be sticking through your skin so graphically. "An open fracture," you heard him mutter under his breath, and you were a little amazed because you heard your dad use that term before while discussing current patients. Armin half-dragged you all the way to your house, even if he struggled under your weight. Mikasa was outside with your mother, looking at the growth of the flowers they had planted together a few weeks ago. Her black eyes followed Armin like a hawk, carefully judging his every move while your mom rushed to pick you up and bring you inside.

"I don't know what we would do without him," your mother sighed later, talking about the boy while watching your father fix the brokenness of your leg, wrapping it with a splint tightly. There. All better.

Beside her, Mikasa agreed. Her voice was quiet, hardly there, but you heard it.

Two months later, she knocked a tooth out of the mouth of a boy who gave Armin a black eye.

**ii.**

Life is nothing but a series of losing, you learn.

Your name is Eren Yeager and you have lost so much within such a short period of time without being able to do anything about it. You're not unlike Armin and Mikasa anymore—you've lost your family now, as well as your home. When you close your eyes, you see the disgusting grin of the titan that ate your mother—you see it in vivid detail. The gnashing and gnawing of its teeth grinding against her spine or against her legs that were crushed under the rubble of what used to be your house, and you cry as her blood sprays viciously from the violent wounds, cutting through the air. You see it endlessly, and you wake up from nightmare after nightmare screaming until your throat is raw.

Mikasa and Armin are always there to comfort you, never once complaining. They help you, and you help them with their fears—and there are many fears to be dealt with. Mikasa remains as stoic as ever, but sometimes you see her slipping through the cracks that she pretends aren't there, and Armin is Armin but just a bit more cautious.

Armin's grandfather does the best an old man can to protect the three of you, unofficially adopting you and Mikasa as his own in the absence of your parents. Just another broken family toiling the grey fields Wall Rose has to offer you; you're simply more mouths to feed. The Military Police continue to sneer at you and the rest of the refugees, and you can see the glee in their eyes as many of the former residents of Wall Maria are unceremoniously shuffled out of the gate to reclaim the lands that had been lost a year ago.

Your hands are blistered from the tough work breaking the earth in order to plant precious crops, but the blisters pale in comparison to the pain you see in Armin's eyes after he learns that his grandfather is lined up to leave—one unwanted citizen among multitudes of others. It's a death sentence gilded with golden praise and words of honor for their bravery and later sacrifice, because you everyone _knows_there is going to be sacrifice. You're not that naïve anymore; it only took one day for you to leave your childhood behind.

And there were hundreds of thousands of sacrifices because life is a series of losing. "A relief of only 20% isn't enough," you hear men whisper to themselves and you want demonstrate all of the fury that your eleven year old fists can muster because none of them have ever suffered like you and your friends have.

Armin cries that he doesn't know what he will do without his grandfather. You and Mikasa spend the evening assuring him that he'll be fine, that you'll both do your best to support him, that you have each other and that everything will be okay in the end.

You will make sure that everything will be okay in the end.

**iii.**

You watch as his hands shake, knuckles bared white with tiny cuts criss-crossing over the taut skin as he slowly mechanically clenches and unclenches his fists. Sometimes you wonder why Armin tries so hard, when his face is flushed and beaded with sweat—the fair haired boy, fourteen years old now, was too gentle for a life in the military. The boy with baby blue eyes, whose nose was always in a book and whose head was in the clouds, dreaming of ethereal and impossible things; he just doesn't seem suited for the harsh existence as a soldier. No, he deserves a comfortable life surrounded by aged yellow pages by the sea he speaks so fondly of (quieter now, but just as fervently, because he could easily get arrested for speaking of such things in the close proximity of the king's military).

But sometimes you forget that he too has his own reasons for enlisting alongside you and Mikasa, and no one ever questions the moral ethics of child soldiers.

It's a hot day; one of the hottest days of the year so far. Your backs are pressed against one of the walls in the mess hall, sitting on the floor. Armin's mug of water you retrieved for him is resting beside his feet as he tries to get his breathing steady, yours held in your own hands. Occasionally you take a sip of water—it's warm, and a little murky tasting—and remind Armin to drink some as well to cool down. His eyes are closed and he never makes any indication of even hearing you, but he looks in control of himself. Armin struggles, but he wants to be here just as much as you do.

_Be sure to make your death contribute to the betterment of humanity; that's the first lesson they teach you in class._

_Armin studies the hardest._

You set your mug down to the side, and set a comforting hand carefully on his shoulder after a few moments of him doing nothing. Armin cracks open an eye and you realize that his labored panting has stopped, and he smiles softly at the friendly gesture. The ten minute break will be over soon, and you'll both have to return with the others to practice set-formation drills with the 3DMG.

'Thank you,' he mouths, and then reaches for his water. He drinks greedily, and soon the both of you head out back to the field. Armin's face is still considerably flushed, but his persistence drives you to do even better, for the both of you, for Mikasa, for the rest of the world.

You don't know what you would do without him by your side.

**iv.**

You don't have any regrets when you pull your best friend free from the huge mouth of the titan and throw him out to safety on the rooftop with your severed leg, long forgotten by now.

And you don't have any regrets when the monstrous creature swallows you instead of him because you don't know what the world would do without a brilliant mind like Armin Arlert.

**v.**

You supposedly died once. It still doesn't entirely make sense to you (and a part of you doubts that it ever will), but once you're free from the Military Police's clutches and you officially enlist into the Scouting Legion like you had always dreamed of doing, you find yourself less and less free from anything at all. Most of your time is taken up by Lance Corporal Levi, your duties as a solider, or being stared at as if you were a monster by nearly everyone around you.

You're not going to ever deny it. You are a monster—but you're still human, and you relish in the few moments when Levi trusts you enough to give you some alone time to see your friends again. It feels as if it's been years since you've seen Armin and Mikasa properly, and they're just as excited to see you as you are them.

When the pair arrives at your dorm, Mikasa looks high strung, with her jaw tight and her eyes burning like newly forged iron. She asks you if you're alright to the point where it becomes a little too obsessive for your tastes, and each time you give her another variation of the phrase "I'm fine." I'm okay. No one is hurting me. Everything is alright. She buries her face up to her nose in her scarf and pretends she can still smell you on it; the you back when everyone was happy and anyone lost was easily found during a game of hide and seek.

Armin, on the other hand, looks more relieved than anything. He speaks of the hope you've brought to the less-wary, and chatters animatedly about little things to cheer you up. Yesterday he saw a cloud that looked like an elephant—one of the animals that none of you have ever seen before, one of the animals that the world can't remember. Armin knows because he read it in a book, and you and Mikasa know because Armin told you about their grey-brown skin, their huge ears and their long noses. It's one of the many secrets among you all—the secrets Armin introduced to you through his love of his grandfather's illegal books.

There was an illustration of the elephant on one of the pages—it was rough and sketchy—and you chuckle at the thought of a cloud of all things looking as weird as the picture you saw years and years ago. The white body of the bulbous creature and its nose that extends into infinity; you imagine its wide feet stomping on the sky with deafening blows. Mikasa knits her brows together and Armin tilts his head—"What are you laughing about?"

"Elephants."

Your answer is so simple that Armin laughs as well in surprise of the unexpectedness of it, and Mikasa smiles behind the sea of maroon hiding half of her face. Soon, all of you have broken into giggles about memories of a time when war was a foreign word and the most you had to worry about were chores.

The three of you wander outside, and it's dark—it's very dark, and you can see the stars shining brightly above you. Their soft twinkling is warm somehow, and the moon-glow illuminates your skin in a pallid color; Mikasa makes a knowing noise beside you and Armin raises his hands to the sky and names off the constellations one by one—_"Draco, Bootes, Lacerta, Perseus, Cygnus, Leo Minor, Canes Venatic, Serpens Caput, Ophiuchus"—_and he continues reciting them, index finger delicately poised to trace over imaginary lines in the sky.

You reach a small campfire where a few of your fellow 104th graduates are sitting huddled together on the ground. The three of you join another trio; Armin sits beside Jean, and you take your place beside Armin. Mikasa sits in the open space next to you, and Connie scoots to the left to give her room.

Sasha, with a devilish grin, passes out mugs of ale and reveals bottles of wine hidden in a satchel. Connie had saved a few pieces of bread that each of you break and share together—Jean declares it a feast, because he managed to snag a pheasant, and you roast it over the fire after Sasha shows you how to prepare the bird.

And it _is_ a feast; it's a treat fit only for kings and ancient legends that now have been centuries forgotten. You temporarily drown all of your regrets and your grievances into your alcohol until every inch of you burns. Everyone drinks—even Mikasa—until your bellies are warm and glowing just as the stars do, eyes wild with a fever that none of you can extinguish because you are so very alive and content in this moment.

Sasha and Connie dance flamboyantly in a strange routine; Jean and Armin clap and hum together a beat the two know to go along with the others' dance. Mikasa watches the small festivities with a rose tint to her cheeks and it's the happiest you've seen her in a long time, and you fondly memorize each curve of a smile you see and each voice you hear. You memorize everything you can because tomorrow could be the last day you ever see the jovial roar of these people you've come to know as friends ever again.

Once none of you can hardly stand without your heads swimming, everyone settles together and snacks on the rest of the food—crumbs, little pieces of meat dangling off of the bones of the pheasant—and the last bottle of wine is passed around person to person for the remaining sips. Armin is the first to doze off, his head resting on Connie's ankle with the rest of him sprawled out on the grass, and the rest of you crawl drunkenly through the dirt and form a small heap together. Your limbs are all smashed together and someone's elbow is jabbing into your side painfully, but you still feel the hope coursing through your veins. It does recede, eventually, with a weariness in your limbs that slowly lulls you into a semi-awake state for a good portion of the night. You don't want to close your eyes, only to wake up for this moment to end.

In a hushed and airy tone later in the night, you hear Armin murmur in his sleep; "I don't know what I would do without any of you." He puts a hand on your shin and his other reaches blindly, eventually finding Mikasa's shoulder, and falls back into tender silence.

**vi.**

Scouting expenditures, as you have come to know, rarely go as planned.

One moment the sky is clear—cloudless and blue, with the occasional birds flying overhead as if to guide you, _'yes, it is truly the wings of freedom'_—and the next, there is nothing but red flares before your eyes. It's ominous, and the layout of the others is so widespread that you can't help but to panic internally because you cannot see the looming danger from your location, only their distress. It's from the right again, close to where Armin would be. And you can do nothing but grip tightly at the reigns of your horse, waiting for the tale-tell green smoke to send everyone headed into a different direction. To the left of you, however, is nothing but rocky terrain (which is anything but good news for you), and the green smoke never arrives.

As the sky continues to bleed, more and more plumes appearing from everywhere, you see a single fire of black. It pops against the angry color, contrasting so dark that you chew the inside of your cheek. Glancing at Levi, you can see that he is on edge too—although he is hiding it much better than you are.

"Aren't we going to do anything?" There's more bite in your voice than you had intended, but you see a tall figure towering above the rest and things feel dire. There are very few trees around, let alone any structure that would optimize the use of your 3DMG. To the left of you, the world is also bathing in red; the black columns only grow thicker with each passing moment.

Levi turns his head to you, eyes sharp. "Keep your droning to yourself." Cracking his attention away like determined lighting, he breaks chain and deserts formation, just as the rest of the group has in order to fight against the onslaught of titans. With a noiseless intensity, Levi steers his horse away—to the right, the direction you were hoping for. Galloping, you follow him and the two of you make your way to the nearest enemy. Levi propels himself into the air, abandoning his steed for the while, and he slings himself towards the lumbering beast's neck with the grace of a cat. It's as if he was born solely for the destruction of the titans.

And you fight too; you fight has hard as you can, and your comrades do the very same. Your blades are drenched in blood within minutes and you've witnessed the deaths of several of your fellow soldiers. It's gruesome and awful, awful, awful, but you hold back tears through gritted teeth and a hardened gaze. There is no time to mourn—

—and you hear the scream; it pierces through your chest like the bullet of a rifle, straight through your insides and ricocheting through the chambers of your heart. It's a wail you recognize immediately, and your head snaps toward the location of the sound. Without thinking, you quickly withdraw and charge your horse in the direction. Desperation fuels you like nothing else has ever done before, and icicles hang themselves from your ribs. The cold clings to you and clogs your throat, you can hardly move from the stiff riding position you're in, and you block out Levi's angered shouting at you for leaving him without his direct permission. You don't care. You don't give a damn about what kind of consequences he could possibly hold over your head _because this is so much more important and you just don't care._

As you draw closer to the source of the terror-stricken scream, you watch as a thirteen meter class titan falls to the ground with an airy thud. Jean is the one who has killed it, and the panic written on his face is enough to send you reeling. He rolls off its neck, unhooking the grapples of his 3DMG as quickly as he can before he runs across the ground to the face of the now steaming creature.

There is nothing for you to fear but the absolute worst.

You leap off your horse and take off after Jean, following his lead like a madman. When you round the enormous head of the titan, all you can see is blood—it's soaked into the earth like water to a rag, and your stomach lurches at the bile that tries to travel up your throat. And you see it—him, really, but it's… it's not Armin. A few feet away from the mouth of the titan is his upper body, tossed aside like a toy.

The twisted and mangled chucks of flesh are threaded to what's left of him in such a way that you can see a part of his spine, and his guts leak out of the gaping hole of what used to be his stomach. It's not Armin anymore; there isn't anything left of him but a small remainder. You can't even bring yourself to look at his face.

You waver—you don't feel like you exist anymore, like all sense of life has been violently ripped out of you. You tense and then lose everything; you're cradling the corpse of your best friend in the entire world, disregarding the fluids staining your uniform. You feel hands tear at you—"_there's still danger around, Eren, please please please get up we have to go we have to move oh my god oh god there's two more of them right there"_—and you snarl, feral, because no one is going to take the last remnant of your childhood away from you. Everything around you is moving so fast and there are multiple people crying, and you're only vaguely aware that the only screaming now is coming from your own mouth. That can't be, because entire world is screaming at you, grieving over such a momentous loss as this.

And Armin, held so cautiously in your arms, does not move an inch in comparison to everyone around you; he does not make a sound in comparison to the shrieking of your friends as they scream to each other what to do to combat the other titans that have been attracted to the small gathering of people. His blond hair is matted and streaked with red, and you plead with him. You beg for him to look at you because right now the only thing he is capable of doing is just blankly staring past you with glassy eyes. You wipe away the trails of blood that were leaked from his mouth and nose, gingerly ask him to speak.

He doesn't answer.

You refuse to accept the fact that he will never answer.

You weren't there to say goodbye to him; the last thing you ever heard from him was a scream that tore you apart, and it's the sound that you know will echo in your head for the rest of your life. You weren't there to save him this time. In Armin's final moments, you probably were only a fleeting thought, and you huddle over the boy and unashamedly cry your heart out. You wonder what his last thoughts were—you only hope that it was of peaceful things, things that he had dreamed about since he was a child. You pray that the last thing the thought about was the sea with its abundance of salt water and strange aquatic creatures, of miles and miles of soft gritted sand, and of a horizon that lasts for centuries. He deserves better than this. He deserves so much better than an ugly death like this.

"Armin, wake up," you choke out, threading your fingers into his hair. You comb it out weakly, vision blurring, and press your forehead against his. "Come on, wake up. We—We were going to go see the fiery water together, right? The sea? You just gotta wake up. We're so close, Armin. I don't know what I'd do without you, so,_please_, wake up." Your voice cracks and you hold him closer, tighter. Your chests are pressed together and the front of your pants are slick with blood and you don't even want to think about what else.

Things weren't supposed to be like this, no, no, no.

You're making a scene, but that doesn't matter right now. You've known this boy for as long as you can remember. He's family to you. He's the best friend you've ever had. And when someone grabs your shoulder and finally wrenches you away from Armin's twisted body, you black out.

After an hour and a half of distressed rampaging in your titan form do you collapse; you resent the praise you receive for singlehandedly slaughtering every last remaining titan that was on the expanse when you come to.

**vii.**

Mikasa sits on the end of your bed, face downcast and curtained out of sight by her black hair. You wish she would leave you alone, if even for just an hour, but she's latched onto you like a child with a favourite doll—not that she hadn't been before, but it's especially irritating when you want to just be by yourself. You need space; you need time to think about where to go from here.

Mikasa fiddles with the fraying ends of her scarf, and you stare at your hands in your lap. It's been two days since you've said anything to the other—it's been two weeks since you last heard Armin's voice.

You still feel like you have open wounds covering every inch of your skin, itching with salt. It hurts; you can't remove the ice from your ribs, and you recall seeing a few of Armin's when you had pulled him into your lap. You gag; Mikasa clears her throat.

"I think," she says hesitantly, slowly turning her head to you. Her eyes are watery, and red around the edges. Sometimes you forget that Mikasa is only fifteen years old, the same as you. The same as Armin will ever be. "I think he would like it if we'd move forward."

Of course he would like that, you want to say. You want to tell her that he would love it if you were strong enough to put it behind you and carry on, but he's gone and there isn't any way he can like anything again. Without him, you're drifting. The Scouting Legion doesn't mean anything to you anymore; it's devoid of any possible wonder without Armin to look to the edge of the earth, as far as the eye can see, and imagine what's beyond even that.

You hear Mikasa sniffle and she looks away from you, shaking her head and pressing a hand over her mouth to prevent anymore unwanted noises. You know she hates feeling like this—you hate it too. You want to be there for her because she's just as bereaved as you are, but the power to move your limbs is gone and all you can do is study the creases of your palms.

And you stay together in a tempered silence for the rest of the day until Jean enters the room and joins you. Without uttering a single word, he passes you one of Armin's beloved books and the familiar straw hat that had belonged to his grandfather; the three of you spend the night fondly reading through the many pages of the book by the soft light of a candle. You recall Armin's favourite passages and go over them in extensive detail; you talk about how his aspirations and ideas inspired your own. You take turns sharing stories of how he had changed each of you, how such a beautiful thinker shaped the lives of everyone he met, and how he had saved the lives of so many others with his brilliant plans like a true solider would.

You don't feel quite whole anymore, and the ache in your heart is almost unbearable, but you think that things, in time, might be alright. Armin would want you to move on.

**viii.**

Your name is Eren Yeager and you have lost so much, and you will keep losing for as long as you live—but you will shoulder the burden and do all that you can for the sake of those who are gone, who are alive, and for those who have yet to exist.

* * *

beta'd by the lovely **sea-salt kisses**


End file.
